


Keep It In the Family

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: Becca has been called out in her capacity as a vet, but when she gets there she encounters more than one client.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonlit_magnolia80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_magnolia80/gifts).



> This is written as a request for one of my readers who wanted to be an OFC.  
> It's loosely related to The Fabulous Baker Boys series, of which she's a big fan.  
> I've split it into several parts to give her something to be going on with....

Becca was beyond tired when the call came in, but she answered it anyway,  sagging against the steering wheel as she hit the answer button, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand.

She'd been planning on going home with maybe a visit to the store on the way for a bottle of wine - she felt she deserved it - but she'd never ignored an animal in trouble yet and she didn't intend to now.

The message had been somewhat garbled, but she'd gotten the gist of it, and a vague description of the location - a big house on the edge of the bayou in Dulvey, along the dirt road past the church.

Wearily, she turned the car around.

 

The house looked like a piece of shit, but she was used to that - being a vet in the small towns round here she was often called out to worse. She had plied her trade in shacks in the swamp before, and as long as they could pay, she would do what she could. Sometimes even if they couldn't, if the need was enough.

The man on the phone with the gruff voice had said something about a hound, although the line had been poor, and she hoped with all her heart it wasn't one of the curs the hillbillies sometimes kept for sport. A spate of organised dog fights had been reported on the outskirts of the nearby towns, and there was no way she was just going to patch up some poor dog and leave if the evidence stacked up right.

People were shit sometimes. Animals were better.

There was some kind of barn around the back of the house, and she managed to squeeze her car down an overgrown dirt track that approached the house from the side. There were a couple of lights burning in the windows, but they had a yellowy glow that looked more like candle light than electric. Becca could only pray that there would be sufficient light to work with: She was in no mood to fumble around in the dark.

She parked as close to the gate as possible and walked up the path. It was soft underfoot, and spongy, with wood slats providing a little support,  and the smell of the swamp was strong here. The yard up ahead looked overgrown, and her heart sank a little more, but she trudged on nevertheless and sidled through the rusted gate.

There was a trailer in the yard, light and muffled music coming from behind it's curtained windows, but just as she was about to approach it she was distracted by the clatter of a door swinging back.

She turned in the gathering dusk, squinting across the yard at the hooded figure who appeared to be having trouble hauling a rolled up rug out through the door. He was grunting with effort, shoulders hunched as he dragged a swathe through the grass, and she took a step forward, calling out as she did.

“Excuse me?” she said. “I'm looking for a Mr….Baker, I think? Are you him?”

The figure jumped at the sound of her voice, the end of the furled rug dropping from his hands, and Becca was surprised and a little suspicious at the thump it made. It seemed awfully heavy for a rug…..

The man whirled around guiltily, nearly stumbling over his own feet, and she saw part of a face in the dim light cast from the window nearby.

One cold blue eye peered at her, an open mouth gawping in surprise, and as she watched the gape turned into a broad grin.

“Mr Baker, y’say?” he said.

His voice was high and nasal, his accent strong, and he pushed his hood back off his head.

“I’m  _ a  _ Mr Baker. Will I do?”

He walked a little closer, and Becca took an instinctive step back. He was still grinning, teeth glinting in the gloom, and those blue eyes were regarding her with a sinister glee.

“That depends,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “I got a phone call about a sick dog? I'm a vet.”

She held up her leather bag as proof.

His face flickered in confusion for just a second, then relaxed back into that grin. He was still walking towards her, a little swagger in his stride, his eyes moving up and down her with quick little flickers.

“The dog! Right. O’ course. Yeah, been awful worried about that dog...”

He stopped a safe distance away and extracted a cigarette from the pocket of his dull green hoodie, slotting it into his smirk and opening a brass Zippo with a flick of his thumb.

“What’s your name, Vet Lady?” he asked.

“Rebecca,” she told him, choking down her instinct to give him her full name. For some reason, she didn’t feel comfortable with him knowing all of it.

“Rebecca, huh? That’s pretty. What are you, Becky for short? Like Tom Sawyer’s girlfriend? Or are you a full blown Rebecca?”

He lit his cigarette and snapped the lighter shut, regarding her with bright curiosity. She didn’t know why he was taking so much interest in her name when he was meant to be concerned about his dog, but she didn’t much like it.

“Becca,” she said shortly. “Look, Mr Baker, I’m kind of tired. Do you think you could show me where your dog is so I can examine him?”

“Aw, come on now, Becca - indulge me a little! Ain’t every day we get a pretty lady like you round here! It’s a nice night - moon’s out, all romantic-like. Why don’t we have a little conversation?”

Becca sighed. She was feeling grouchy, nearing the end of her patience, and her bag was starting to feel heavy. She switched hands, taking a sideways step back towards the gate she’d come through.

“I really don’t have time,” she said. “And if your dog is suffering, it’s really not fair to let him do so while we stand here chatting, so if you don’t mind….”

She took another warning step, and young Mr Baker sighed out a mouthful of smoke.

“Guess you’re right,” he said. “Hold on - lemme finish up with this….”

He sucked down another lungful, eying her with that same eager fascination as before, and despite her impatience, she couldn’t help noticing once the moonlight hit him that he was actually quite attractive, in a skinny, nerdy kind of way. His eyes were very blue, and his cheekbones were so sharp she could have honed her scalpel on them.

He spotted her looking and shared another smirky, private smile with her.

She glanced at her watch, making it obvious, and he gave another sigh, pitching his butt into the long grass.

“Okay, okay! I can take a hint,” he said. “Walk this way, Miss, an’ I’ll show you where he is.”

Finally!

Becca started to walk towards him, her mind already back on the bottle of wine she had earned, but as she neared the door of the barn he’d come through the furled rug he’d been moving made a sound.

She stopped abruptly, heart leaping with shock, and the muffled grunt that had come from the rug was now accompanied by motion, the whole thing twitching on the ground. It lurched sideways, wriggling like a fat caterpillar, and she saw the young man frown, eyes darting between her and the rug with consternation.

“Uh….what the fuck…?” she said, and Mr Baker cursed under his breath, leaping across the gap to the rug and dealing a hefty kick to the top end. It made a solid thud that was somehow sickening, and the rug went limp.

“Darn possums!” he said cheerfully. “They do get into everythin’, don’t they? Been tryin’ to get ‘em outta the barn, but we got a plague o’ them, scurryin’ around everywhere!”

Becca managed a weak smile, the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “I had the same problem myself at home. They got into the walls and kept me awake all night with their scratching!”

He nodded sagely in mock sympathy, watching her with close suspicion.

“Oh!” she said, snapping her fingers. “I just remembered! I left my stethoscope in the car! Silly me, would forget my head if it weren’t screwed on! If you’ll just hold on a sec, I’ll go fetch it….”

She turned on her heel, gaze fixed on the gate ahead and the freedom it represented. She hoped her voice had sounded casual and believable, but the man’s wits looked as sharp as his cheekbones, and she very much doubted she’d taken him in. Still, she started off towards the gates, keeping a pace that was swift enough without appearing hurried.

She heard him laugh behind her, a dirty chuckle that sent a little cold tremor down her spine.

“Aww, miss!” he said. “You must think I was born yesterday!”

Becca put a little bounce in her step, ready to spring forward, but he was already behind her, breath hot on the back of her neck, an arm looping around her waist.

“Rude to skip out without sayin’ goodbye,” he observed. “But I’ll let you off, on account o’ you bein’ so pretty an’ all.”

Becca dropped her bag with a little moan, grabbing at the arm folded across her belly and trying to pry it off. He was stronger that he looked, it turned out, and despite her best efforts she was unable to dislodge it. He laughed again and gave her a tug, pulling her backwards, her sneakers sliding over the dew-damp grass without purchase.

“Please…” she said. “I need to get home...my kids….”

“Kids?”

He hesitated.

“You got kids?”

She nodded frantically, hearing doubt in his voice.

“How old?” he asked.

“17 and 19,” she said.

“You don’t look old enough…” he growled.

“I was young when I had them!” she said. “Please! They’ll be worried.”

“Huh. Sounds to me at that age they’re old enough to look after themselves,” he said.

“How old are you?” she asked, and again he hesitated, and when he eventually spoke he sounded uncertain.

“24?” he said. “Yeah, I reckon that’s about right...Kinda lost track.”

“And how would you feel if something happened to your mother?” she asked, keeping her voice level. “You’d be upset, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and she closed her eyes, praying silently - praying that he was a good southern boy that loved his momma.

“Maybe somethin’  _ has  _ happened to my momma,” he said finally. “Y’all think o’ that?”

He brought his mouth close to her ear, cinching his arm tighter round her, squeezing.

“Maybe I’m lookin’ for somethin’ to take my mind off it….”

Becca let out a sob, not knowing how to proceed. He was pressed right up against her, belly plastered to her back, and when she wriggled to free herself she could feel something hard digging into the base of her spine.

He grunted at the friction, and hurriedly created a small gap between them.

“Please?” she tried again. “Let me go?”

He coughed, sounding embarrassed.

“Well. Maybe I will….” he said. “But if I was to do that, what’s to stop you goin’ straight to the cops an’ tellin’ them what happened? Place’d be swarmin’ with pigs before the night was out!”

“I won’t tell!” she said, a glimmer of hope sparking in her chest. “I promise!”

She could sense the indecision in him, the bar of his arm around her losing some of its tension, and just as she felt his resolve waver there was a noise from within the house behind him and his arm tightened once more.

“Shit!”

It was a hiss in her ear, and she opened her mouth to say something, but his other hand appeared from nowhere and clamped itself over her mouth. It smelled like smoke and engine grease and tasted bitter against her tongue.

“Don't make a fuckin’ sound,” he warned her in an urgent whisper. “You do an’ you're done for!”

He was pulling her back again but this time he was done teasing, lifting her off her feet and carrying her as her sneakers kicked in the air. He moved fast, spinning with her in his grasp, conveying her towards the house.

She panicked at the notion he was taking her in there, where the sound of a crazed voice was calling out, but he angled himself not at the steps leading up to the back door but to the middle of the verandah where there was a rough trellis underneath.

He bent down, heaving her onto his hip,  using the hand that had been on her mouth to seize the edge of the trellis and pulling. The nails holding it on place squealed out of the wood as he pried it open revealing a dark space choked with cobwebs and dirt.

“Get in there,” he snapped, dumping her down and shoving her towards it. “An’ whatever you do, keep quiet!”

She was more scared now than she had been before when the rug had started moving,  and her legs shook beneath her, spilling her onto the moist earth. She didn't want to go into that hidey hole, but the fact that her captor was scared of whoever was approaching decided her. She lurched forward in an unsteady crawl, diving into the cubby in the nick of time, the young man kicking the trellis shut behind her.

The back door slammed open and heavy footfalls trudged overhead, sounding like the boots of God in her suddenly tiny world.

“Lucas, I been callin’ you forever!” growled a rough voice.

“I been busy,” said Lucas in a sullen voice. “Fuck do you want anyways?”

“We’re expectin’ a visit,” said the first voice, who Becca now recognised as the Mr Baker who had placed the phone call earlier. “Got a veterinary on the way.”

“Oh yeah? Well I ain't seen him,” said Lucas. “Should o’ told me sooner.”

“I'm tellin’ ya now!” snarled the older Mr Baker. “An’ it ain't a ‘he’, it's a ‘she’, so don't you get no funny ideas. I know what you're like, you horny little bastard.”

“You got a nerve, old man.”

Lucas sounded seriously pissed off now, his voice full of quiet menace.

“Y’all cut me off without no reason, an’ now you're tellin’ me I can't make my own entertainment? Fuck you.”

Mr Baker uttered something that could have been a laugh.

“Don't have to give you no reason,” he said. “Don't matter none now though. See you got that bum ready for movin’ down to the basement. I'll give you a hand if you want.”

“I don't need your fuckin’ help!” snapped Lucas. “Doin’ fine by myself!”

“Ha! You need all the help you can get, boy - weak little manchild like yourself. C’mon - I'll take the head an’ you take the feet.”

The newcomer started to move away, and Becca peered through the slats of the trellis to see Lucas’s legs swivel to follow. He faltered for a moment, knees bending to duck down a little.

“You stay put,” he urged on a low voice. “He catches you, you're fucked.”

He paused.

“Though prolly not literally.”

Becca didn't reply, but she had no intention of staying where she was: As soon as the two men were gone she was going to make a run for it, no matter what Lucas said.

As if reading her mind Lucas straightened and aimed a surreptitious kick at the trellis with the side of his foot. She felt the guts of the verandah judder around her, and Lucas gave a satisfied grunt before loping off after his father.

Becca crouched in the dank gloom, head full of the smell of mud. It was so strong it was making her feel nauseous, and she concentrated on taking shallow breaths as the two men squabbled nearby.

Their feet shuffled past, the lump of the rug suspended between them, bulging heavily towards the ground. Whoever was in there was motionless now, and Becca felt tears sting her eyes at the realisation that it could be her bundled up in a rug soon.

She heard their feet overhead, heavy boots and tennis shoes slapping the boards, then the back door clattered again.

Becca sprang forward, throwing her weight against the trellis. It shook but didn't budge, and she moaned in frustration. It had looked flimsier than it actually was, and she threaded her fingers through the diamond shaped gaps, shoving with all her strength. It was a fruitless task: Lucas’s kick had pummelled the nails back into the wood surround, sealing her in.

Flopping back onto her ass, she braced her feet against it and tried again, gritting her teeth with effort. She felt the tiniest shift in the wood, the high-pitched creak it gave encouraging her, but even then she had no success.

Pissed off, she gave it a kick, and cringed at the noise it made. With a focused attack she could probably smash her way through it, but the  _ noise _ ….not to mention the fact that she stood more than a fair chance of breaking her ankle.

Weeping with despair she fell onto her back, flinging her arm over her eyes. It wasn't  _ fair! _ She'd been on her way home, thinking about wine and Game of Thrones….and now she was trapped.

There was a faint sound by her head and she jerked in fright. She could hear a scrabbling way back in the crawlspace, and she hoped to god she wasn't stuck in there with some kind of animal. Even a trapped cat could be fierce if it was scared enough.

“Hello?” she whispered, feeling silly. “Kitty kitty?”

The noise stopped for a second, and after what seemed like an age a distant voice, high and sweet from the bowels of the house, whispered back:

“How did you know my name?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becca meets another inhabitant of the Baker house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no smut, but I swear it's on its way!

There was a crumbling bit of wood at the far end of the crawlspace, and Becca wriggled towards it. It was nailed in place, but so rotten that it fell apart when she tugged at it and she quickly pulled it free. Behind it was a narrow, grimy window near the ground, all but opaque with dirt and dust, and she tried to rub a clear patch on the pane, gasping as a hand appeared on the other side and began to do the same.

A pair of large dark eyes, only just visible in the gloom, peered up at her with good-natured curiosity.

“Hello!” said the voice the eyes belonged to.

“Oh my god!”

Becca dropped her chin low, bringing her face level to the window.

“You have to help me!” she begged. “Can you call the police?”

Her new companion laughed, a tinkling, happy sound that wasn't entirely sane.

“I don't have a phone!” she said, as though it should have been obvious.

“Well, can you get to one? I need to get out of here!”

“Oh, I can't go anywhere,” said the girl. “I'm locked in.”

“You're a prisoner too?”

The brows above the eyes lowered in a frown.

“No. I'm a...a guest? I suppose you could call me that.”

“A guest? But you're locked in!”

“Only so Lucas can't get to me,” said the girl.

She sighed, her breath misting the glass.

“I miss him….”

Becca felt like collapsing. She didn't understand what was going on, nor why this woman was so cheerful considering she was a captive. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to collect her thoughts.

“Oh! Are you all right?” squeaked the girl. “Don't be sad! What's happened? It's going to be okay….”

“Lucas caught me,” said Becca dully. “He pushed me under here to hide me from his father.”

“Really? Hmm, well I have to say that's a good sign,” said the girl encouragingly. “That probably means he likes you and wants to keep you for himself!”

“But I don't want to be kept!” wailed Becca. “I want to go home!”

“Aw, really? Look, it's fine. You'll get used to it. I did! I love it now. I wouldn't have it any other way!”

“Did Lucas catch you too?”

“No….” said the girl scornfully, wrinkling her nose. “Jack did - Lucas’s father. I call him ‘Daddy’. I love him….”

She sighed like a swoony teenager.

“I don't understand any of this,” said Becca. “This is crazy!”

“Look, it's quite simple. I came here to visit Zoe...ooh, a long time ago...but I met Jack instead and we fell in love, and he brought me here. Then Lucas found out about me and got jealous,  so Jack started to let him join in. But then _Jack_ got jealous - I don't know why - and he persuaded Lucas to build a stronger door for my quarters - a big metal one with a keypad. And then Jack changed the code for the door so Lucas couldn't get in any more. So now it's just me and Jack again. Lucas tries to get in every now and then, but he can't - he made the door too strong. He's mad about it. Anyway. Enough about the boys. I haven't had a lady to talk to for a long time! This is so _fun!_ My name’s Lani, but Jack calls me Kitten. What's your name?”

“Rebecca. But my friends call me Becca.”

“Pleased to meet you, Becca,” said Lani primly.

She squinted through the glass, apparently frustrated that she couldn't see Becca well enough.

“Hang on - I'm going to get a light.”

The other woman disappeared, leaving Becca slumped on the ground. _Hang on_ , she'd said, like Becca had no choice but to hang on.

A warm yellow light came into view, growing larger as it neared, and Becca narrowed her eyes against the glare. Her new friend had a lantern, and she held it up to the window like a governess in a Victorian novel.

“Ooh! You're pretty,” said Lani approvingly. “Such nice green eyes, and you have _lovely_ skin. I can see why Lucas likes you. Hey, wouldn't it be fun if we were allowed to visit with each other? Lucas bringing you to me, or Jack taking me to you….It won't happen, of course, but it _would_ be fun.”

She trailed off a little wistfully, but Becca was horrified.

“I can't….Lani, or Kitten, whatever your name is - don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're happy with the arrangement, but I don't _wanna_ stay here! I wanna go home!”

“Please don't be sad,” said Lani. “Honestly, life is so simple this way. You don't have to work or worry about paying bills. You get fed, and best of all, you get _fucked._ Mmmm...lots of fucking….Lucas isn't as good as his Daddy but he _is_ good, don't worry. You're going to like it.”

Becca gave up trying to reason with Lani. The woman was clearly a lunatic, driven crazy by her confinement and possibly suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Becca couldn't imagine feeling the same way.

“What do you look like, Lani?” she asked, changing the subject.

She was curious to see what the other woman looked like - to see what effect her imprisonment had had.

Lani lifted her lantern obligingly and held it next to her face, beaming.

She was - or had been - astonishingly pretty, somewhat younger than Becca, with straight black hair and a heart-shaped face, but Becca had to stifle a gasp of horror as her face came into view.

Her pale skin was threaded all over with visible veins, as black as though someone had drawn them in with a ballpoint pen, and her smile revealed glistening gums that were black as licorice. But the worst thing was her eyes, the soft brown orbs misted over with a film of black goo that wept from the corners in tarry rivulets.

“How do I look?” asked Lani. “I don't have any mirrors here.”

“You look fabulous!” lied Becca, stretching her unwilling mouth into a false smile, and Lani laughed happily.

“Jack tells me I look beautiful all the time, but he would say that, wouldn't he? He loves me, and love is blind, they say. It's nice to get another opinion.”

There was a sound up above, and Lani tilted her head quizzically.

“Can you hear that?” she said. “It's the boys. They're coming back. Jack and Lucas. I can tell their treads anywhere. And Marguerite’s, of course….”

She pulled a face, and for a moment Becca saw pure murder in her eyes. She wanted to ask who Marguerite was, but didn't dare.

Muffled voices were audible now, one gruff, one whiny, and Lani sighed again.

“I hope Jack will visit me tonight,” she confessed. “It's been a few days since the last time.”

“Aren't you hungry?”

“No….”

Lani looked puzzled.

“I don't seem to get hungry anymore…”

She shrugged.

“Oh well,” she said. “I’m going to get ready,  just in case. Good luck! I'll keep my fingers crossed for you!”

She held up her left hand as evidence, fingers firmly crossed. Her nails were blackened and loose-looking, and Becca shuddered.

“I’m not crossing my legs, though, for obvious reasons,” Lani tittered, and disappeared out of sight.

Becca dragged herself away from the window feeling even more desperate than before. Was that what the future held in store for her - insanity and disfigurement? She wanted to cry, but swallowed that feeling down. It would be pointless.

The men were stomping around, Lucas’s voice raised in peevish discontent, his father replying in rumbling snarls, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. They had come down the steps into the yard, and Becca shrank up against the house, fearful that Lucas had caved in and told his father about her.

She saw the vague shadows of legs pass by her hiding place, and heard metallic rattling sounds that could have been chains, but though she listened hard she was none the wiser.

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the heavy tramping of Jack ascending the steps to the house, and he appeared to be alone.

Cowering with her arms wrapped around her knees, Becca waited, and Lucas’s arrival was signalled by the squawk of nails pulling free from wood. There had only been a bit of light filtering in from outside, but that was blocked as Lucas moved in front of the gap. She couldn’t see his features as he ducked down to peer at her, just his shape and the glint of his eyes.

“Becca? You still there?” he asked in a coarse whisper. “Aw, yeah - I see you. C’mon out, but be quiet. We ain’t outta the woods yet.”

Becca didn’t want to leave her safe place, but she had very few options, and she had no doubt that if she refused to leave Lucas would come in after her and drag her out anyway. She started forward in a weak crawl, her arms and legs shaking underneath her until her head poked out into the night air. It was a welcome relief after the muddy fug under the house, despite the swampiness, and she took deep breaths, clearing the dirt from her lungs.

Lucas stooped and grabbed her arm above the elbow, and Becca stifled the yelp that wanted to leave her lips. She was terrified, but she was more scared of Jack hearing her than the man in front of her.

Lucas pulled her to her feet, steadying her when she staggered.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I was gonna let you go, but there’s been a change o’ plan.”

“Wh-what? Why?”

“My dad’s the one who called you, and he don’t know you turned up, so he’s still waitin’ on you. He decided he wants you to come to the front door, so he’s been goin’ around cuttin’ off all the other entrances. See?”

Lucas gestured towards the gate she’d come through. There was a thick length of chain wrapped around the bars, a large padlock holding it in place. Becca moaned in horror.

“Yeah, I know,” said Lucas. “Kind o’ fucked up my plans, but ain’t much I can do about it right now. He’s crazier than a shithouse rat, though, so if we leave it a while he might forget about you an’ we can get you back to your kids.”

He paused, leaning closer.

“You weren’t lyin’ about your kids, were you?”

Becca shook her head frantically.

“No! I swear!”

“Good. Cuz I’d be mad if you did. I ain’t got many weaknesses, lady, but my Momma happens to be one o’ them, so if it turns out you was exploitin’ my better nature - what little there is o’ it - you’ll be sorry.”

“I promise,” said Becca breathlessly. “They’re real.”

“Okay. Well, we better get you somewhere safe. Imma take you to the barn for now - ain’t nobody else in my family can get in there. I’m warnin’ you now, though - you’re gonna see some real upsettin’ shit in there. Don’t get all fucked up about it. I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt you.”

With those ominous words Lucas led the way to the barn door, where there appeared to be a complicated security system in place. Despite his assurance that he intended to set her free, he still had an iron grip on her arm that she didn’t quite trust. But she was out of options, and still exhausted, so the only thing she could do was let him take her inside.

 

The feeling of exposure she’d had outside drifted away once they had entered, but it was replaced by a trapped claustrophobia as Lucas took her through interchangeable corridors that were full of junk. It smelled strongly of paint in here, and the air was thick with the eye-watering fumes of bleach.

“Sorry about the stink.” he said, noticing her blinking the sting from her eyes. “Got a real bad mold problem here, an’ I’m tryin’ to keep on top o’ it.”

He loped along easily, dragging her with him, and Becca peered through the doorways they passed. There were a great many mannequins populating the rooms, and she had images of him treating them as friends - setting up little scenarios, positioning them in groups like a party. It was highly likely, considering the dubious mental health in evidence around here.

Most of the barn had been partitioned off and converted into rooms, but after a while they reached a larger space that still held evidence of stalls. There were bales of rotting hay stacked here, and the long dead smell of animals that she would have found comforting under other circumstances. The place seemed to have too many shadows, though, cluttering the corners, and some of them seemed to move.

There was a lumpish shape in one of the stalls that seemed to grow larger as they passed, stretching upwards to the low ceiling.

“What is that?” she asked nervously as something squelched nearby.

“Don't look at it,” Lucas advised. “Just one o’ those upsettin’ things I mentioned. Anyways, we're nearly there! Got myself a little hideout up here. Moved outta the main house long ago - got some secrets I need to keep, an’ I can’t keep them with my parents lookin’ over my shoulder, pokin’ their noses into my business.”

“You said something had happened to your mother…” Becca reminded him.

“Yeah, I did. Weren’t lyin’ neither. Same thing happened to her as happened to my dad.”

He paused.

“An’ me, o’ course,” he added matter-of-factly. “‘Cept I got over it, kinda. You prolly think I’m crazy, but compared to my folks? I’m Mr Mental Health 2015.”

Becca kept her mouth shut. He’d been uncertain about his age earlier, and now it was seemed that he didn’t know what year it was either: 2015 had come to an end months ago.

“Here we are!” he announced, coming to a halt.

Becca peered ahead in confusion, scanning the blank wall in front of her, and Lucas laughed at her dismay.

“Hidden door,” he said. “Can’t be too careful.”

He poked one of the vertical wooden slats that made up the wall and there was a click as it swung open as part of a panel. There was another door behind it, this one of reinforced metal with a keypad where the handle would have been, and Becca was reminded of Lani telling her about the door Lucas had made.

She was happy that Jack would be unable to get past the door, but what would keep him out would just as certainly keep her in, and she wilted with despair.

“Promise me…” she said through a mouth that felt full of sawdust. “Promise me you’ll get me out of here….”

Lucas didn’t answer for a moment, and his fingers tightened around her arm.

“I can’t promise,” he said finally. “I might change my mind. But as of this moment, I intend to. Can’t do no better than that.”

Becca nodded hopelessly. It was the best she could hope for right now, and she had no other options.

 

The rooms behind the door were as tidy as could be expected from a bachelor living amongst crazy people. The furniture was worn out and the surfaces covered in yet more junk, but the bleach smell was much fainter here, overpowered by stale cigarette smoke and the old reek of microwave meals.

There was a couch leaking stuffing up against one wall, facing a huge bulky old tv set, and a mattress on the floor in the corner with a stained sheet over it. As tired as she was, even that looked inviting.

He let go of her arm once the door had closed behind her, but she felt the ghost of his grip lingering behind.

“Make yourself at home, I guess” he said. “You want a beer?”

“Have you got anything stronger?” she asked.

She wanted to get drunk - to get absolutely shit faced until she wasn't scared any more.

“Fraid not. Beer or nothin’,” said Lucas.

“That’ll have to do then.”

The beer came in a brown bottle with no label and she regarded it suspiciously.

“Ain't nothin’ funny in it!” said Lucas, tipping the neck of his own beer up to his lips. “I got you here now: Reckon if I wanted to do somethin’ to you I'd just do it - wouldn't have to drug you.”

He noticed her stare, and sighed. He seemed irritated by her anxiety.

“An’ if I intended to do somethin’ I prolly would o’ started already. So just relax an’ drink your fuckin’ beer!”

He retired to the threadbare couch, throwing her an aggrieved look. It was enough to shut her up, but not enough to make her feel guilty.

She didn't know where to sit: He had slumped down in the centre of the couch, manspreading so he took up most of the space, and the thought of sitting on the mattress gave her a weird feeling.

 _Lucas isn't as good as his Daddy but he_ is _good,_ Lani had said, meaning she knew from firsthand experience.

What had that room beneath the house seen? wondered Becca. What depravities had it played host to?

Lani was clearly crazy, and infected by God knew what, but she spoke of the two men with evident enjoyment, an undercurrent of raw lust running beneath everything….And she missed him, she’d said. What was it about him she missed?

Becca held her beer and peered at Lucas surreptitiously from under her eyelashes. He was drinking his beer, ignoring her to all intents and purposes, but there was a faint tic beneath his eye that told her he knew she was looking.

He certainly didn't _look_ like the type to be able to throw down, but who knew what secrets those dirty jeans held?

He had long slender fingers, and as she watched he ran his tongue out of his mouth, licking a stray droplet of beer from his lips. He had a long tongue, too. She felt her face grow hot.

 _Stop it!_ she scolded herself.

She was 37, and whilst clearly not old enough to be his mother she had at least a good 13 years on him, if his recollection of his age was correct.

He wasn't even that hot, if she was being honest with herself - good bones and startling blue eyes, of course, but that was all. Really - that was all.

Unless he was hung like horse, of course. Of course.

Becca turned her face away and took a deep drink of the beer. It was going to be a long night at this rate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A semi-eventful night followed by a slightly more eventful morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be porn without plot, but so far there's been all plot and no porn, so I apologise. It's nearly there, though! I swear!

Lucas appeared to notice her still standing,  and shifted reluctantly along the couch.

“Here - you might as well sit,” he said. “You can prolly tell I ain't exactly used to havin’ company.”

She took him up on his offer, sitting at the other end of the couch, and they sat there in silence like two awkward bookends.

“You, uh...you like horror movies?” asked Lucas finally.

“As a matter of fact I do,” said Becca.

“Take your pick, then,” he said, waving a hand towards a stack of old VHS tapes. “You're the guest, you get to choose.”

Guest: That's how Lani had described herself.

Becca set her beer on the floor and knelt beside the TV. The floor was hard concrete, without even a rug to soften it up. Boy needed a woman’s touch, she thought, scanning the titles of the movies. They were all oldschool originals -  _ The Hills Have Eyes, The Evil Dead  _ \- and it was hard to choose.

About half way down she spotted  _ An American Werewolf in London _ and grabbed it - she hadn't seen it in the longest time.

“Good choice,” he commented.

The VCR was on the floor and Becca had to bend right down to slot the tape in, painfully aware that her ass was lifted up in front of him. She heard the whisper of cloth against cloth as he shifted position.

“I'll go turn off the light,” he mumbled. “Horror movies are better in the dark.”

He was right, but Becca wasn't prepared for how dark it was once he turned the overhead light off. With no windows to the outside it was pitch black in the room, and she was relieved when the FBI warning came up on the screen giving off a pallid glow. He walked back to the couch confidently though. Either he could see in the dark or he knew exactly where everything was.

They watched in silence, sitting with an entire couch cushion’s space between them, but Becca felt his gaze on her every now and then, quick little darts of his eyes in her direction, watching her responses. If he'd been hoping she was the type to scream and clutch at him from a jumpscare, he was disappointed.

Onscreen, David and Alex had left the hospital and were heading to her apartment. Becca felt a stab of consternation - she had forgotten most of the movie, but as the characters began flirting she remembered that there was a sex scene coming up.

Lucas knew too - he was carefully not looking at her, and from the corner of her eye she saw him pull his hood up. His beer was clutched on his lap, jutting up from his crotch in an unconscious imitation of a hard-on, his knuckles white.

Becca was glad it was dark, as she felt her face reddening as Van Morrison started singing. Stuff like that didn't embarrass her, but it was uncomfortable with him sitting there, god knows what going on under that hood.

He shifted position surreptitiously, tugging at the crotch of his jeans as if they'd suddenly become too tight, and she sensed his head turning to look at her, a cautious glance in the flickering TV light.

Becca looked straight ahead and sipped her beer. She was trapped here for the time-being with this weirdly-attractive hillbilly, and she should have been scared - she didn't know the character of this strange man, plus his crazy father was roaming around out there on the lookout for her, not to mention the fact that there was a girl with some kind of horrific infection locked in the basement - but she didn't feel frightened. Worried, perhaps. Mystified and anxious and confused. But not frightened.

The scene ended, much to her relief, and the tension was broken by the horrific comic-relief of David's dead friend coming to visit, and Becca felt herself relax. The beer was strong, and she'd been tired to begin with, and the darkness was soothing, even with the screaming coming from the TV set as people were torn apart by the werewolf.

She felt her head droop, and snapped it back upright with a jerk that Lucas seemed to feel.

“Y’all wanna get some sleep, you go ahead,” he said, waving towards the mattress.

Becca hesitated, and Lucas made an impatient clicking noise with his tongue.

“Go on, now! I ain't gonna do nothin’ to ya while you're asleep….”

Unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed by that statement, Becca drained her beer. The movie was still playing when she crawled onto the mattress and slumped down, but he turned the volume down with a consideration she hadn't expected, and she fell asleep within minutes despite the oddness of her situation.

 

Becca didn't know how long she'd been asleep. Consciousness seeped in by degrees, and she tried to push it away - she was still exhausted and didn't want it, dammit! - but there was a noise she couldn't identify and it puzzled her.

The TV was off, and the room was in  darkness but for the red glow of little LED lights dotted around the room. She did a couple of sluggish test blinks before her eyes fell shut again.

She was lying on her side, and was just awake enough to work out that she was facing the wall from the close quality of her breath thrown back at her. The noise was coming from behind her, a series of little huffs accompanied by a slippery sound almost too quiet to hear. She lay unmoving, listening to the soothing rhythm. It was quicker now, and every so often there was a soft slapping noise as a counterpoint.

It was Lucas, she realised. He was behind her - not on the mattress but low down, close enough for her to feel his presence - and he was jerking off, trying his best not be heard.

Becca strained her ears as he made a little grunt, and she thought he'd finished, but it appeared he was just taking a break. The sounds resumed a few minutes later, Lucas emitting a little sigh as the slithery strokes began again.

She couldn't see him, but she could feel him looking at her. She wondered what he was seeing - whether the sex scene from the movie was playing out in his head, or whether he was focused on her body.

She was a curvy girl, well built and rounded. Was she his type?

Her jeans felt tight around her ass, moulded to the swell of her cheeks, and there was a cool spot above the waistband, an exposed area of skin.

She pictured him on his knees next to the mattress, thighs braced apart and his cock jutting out from the open front of his jeans. He'd be looking her up and down, studying her ass, wishing she'd turn over so he could see her tits.

Imagination or not, her back tingled and prickled, and she felt a growing heat in her belly. It was exciting, in its way - this sex starved boy masturbating over the view of her clothed body, perhaps filling in the gaps with his mind. It had been a while since she'd been with a man - her work had taken up most of her life recently, and her social life had suffered as a result. She missed sex - missed casual intimacy and the fulfilment of knowing she was with someone who wanted her, was hard because of her. She had a vibrator but it wasn't the same.

Behind her, Lucas made a low rumble in his throat. He was being careful, but his passions were getting the better of him. What would he do if she turned over? she wondered. If she undid a couple of buttons of her shirt to give him a view of her cleavage? Would he stop? Would he carry on? Would he touch her?

She wanted to find out but she was too nervous. She might embarrass him, and she didn't know what he'd do if he was embarrassed. He might lash out.

So she lay still, listening, wishing she could see. Wishing she could put her hand in her panties and join in. Wishing, wishing, wishing…..

He gasped, and the inward breath seemed to pull something out of her, some longing, and she felt the pang right down to the core of her pussy. Whether or not she would have decided to acknowledge him eventually, she was too late: He'd finished. She heard a tiny  _ splat! _ as his spunk hit the floor, and an equally tiny gargle torn from his throat, and she let out her own sigh in response, shifting position slightly in reflex. She hoped he'd think it was a sleep-sound. She didn't want him to feel bad.

He was silent now, and she pictured him frozen in place - going  _ tharn  _ as the rabbits did in  _ Watership Down  _ when they panicked.

_ Was she awake? Did she know? _

It almost made her giggle, but she swallowed the impulse. That wouldn't do at all.

She mumbled something sleepy instead, like something dredged from a dream, and felt him relax. He was quietly busy now, mopping up his mess, tucking himself away. She'd missed his cock - missed seeing that sinewy length caught up in his fist, strangled by lust. She regretted her lack of action now, but it was all for the best.

The sound of him moving about was muted but relaxed now - he was sated, spent - relieved and at peace. The mother in her was happy to be of use, happy that he was content, but the slut in her was frustrated…..

He seemed be settling down, retreating back to the couch, and she heard the tired springs creak and twang as he arranged himself. He was going to sleep there, and again she felt bitter regret that he wasn't going to snuggle down with her and spoon on the mattress. It was a silly thought, brought on by the drowsy arousal of what had just happened, and she couldn't afford to dwell on it. She lay listening to the deepening sound of his breathing until it turned into the rasp of snores, and debated whether it was worth flipping over and fingering herself, but even as she considered it she was falling asleep again.

 

He was gone when she woke up.

Becca rolled herself off the mattress, levering herself to her feet. She was thirsty and hungry and her back hurt from the unfamiliar bed, and she rubbed at her bleary eyes, looking around. He'd left a light on in the corner, an old floor lamp with a dusty chintz shade, and the soft glow allowed her to seek out the switch for the overhead light. It was a shock to her recently opened eyes as she flipped it, harsh fluorescence stinging them and she pulled her neck in like a turtle, squinting in the sudden glare.

There were two doors leading off this room, and she began a cautious exploration, opening the one nearest her.

It appeared to be some kind of kitchen, a makeshift one least. There was an old dresser against one wall with a stack of chipped plates and mugs on it, accompanied by an array of canned goods, and a microwave with a toaster oven next to it balanced on a wobbly wooden table. He had a burner too, one of the ones used for camping, and a few battered pans hung from nails driven into the wall. He lived like this? Her heart went out to him in that moment - the boy stuck out here in hiding, lonely and eating crap….no wonder he was so skinny - he was malnourished! A thought flashed through her mind of taking him home and feeding him a decent, home-cooked meal, putting some meat on those poor bones, but she dismissed the notion almost immediately.

She withdrew into the main room and investigated the other door. It was a bathroom, with a toilet and a basin and claw foot bathtub with a rusted shower nozzle hung over it. The curtain rail on the ceiling above it was bare, and the wall tiles were stained brown despite the strong smell of bleach that assailed her the minute she walked in.

Her bladder was uncomfortably full, she realised, and she hurried over to the toilet, closing the door behind her. There was no lock, but she she didn't plan on taking long. She peered down into the toilet with a certain amount of trepidation as she unbuttoned her jeans, but it wasn't as bad as she'd anticipated. “Bachelor-clean” she would have called it - he'd made an effort at some point but it had been a half-assed one. She had no choice anyway. She sat and tried to relax, shooting glances at the door.

She was leaning down to snag the roll of toilet paper on the floor beside her when she heard the outer door open,  and she suppressed a squawk of alarm, ripping off a few sheets hurriedly. She could hear his footsteps pause in the centre of the room, and she finished up as fast as she could, pulling the flush as she refastened her jeans.

She washed her hands in cold water, using a gnarled sliver of soap she found, and left the bathroom.

The room was empty of Lucas, but she heard him moving around in the kitchen.

He had the burner on to make coffee, and she lingered in the doorway watching him.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he said without looking up. “Got some supplies. Ain't much but it was all I could find. Hope you like pop tarts.”

He turned, his lip curling up in a sneer.

“They're the unfrosted kind, for fuck’s sake. Why they even make those?”

Becca was so hungry she didn't care, and her stomach growled at the notion of pop tarts, frosted or not.

“Was that where you were? Getting supplies?” she asked.

“Yeah…” he said, but he sounded uncertain, like he was hiding something.

Becca felt slightly guilty, but when he turned to look at her again she used her Mom Stare on him, the one she used on her kids when she wanted information. She didn't like the fact that he was being secretive.

He squirmed a little, and she felt a stab of triumph: He wasn't immune to the Mom Stare.

“Had to see if the old man had unlocked the exits,” he said defensively. “He hasn't. An’ I had to hide your car. Dad sees that, he won't rest till he's found you.”

There was more, though, she knew it, and Becca turned up the focus on her stare till she had the Mom Glare in place.

He bristled at that, lips thinning to a hard line.

“What? Don't look at me like that!”

“What are you keeping from me?” she demanded, and felt a little thrill of anxiety mixed with something else as he narrowed his eyes at her tone.

She gulped, and softened her face.

“Please….I'm scared, Lucas. This is all so weird! And if you're keeping things from me I'm going to worry about what they are.”

He turned the burner off under the coffee pot and turned to face her. The was a glint in his eyes that hadn't been there before, and it sent a little shiver down her spine.

“Found your phone,” he said.

His tone gave her another jolt of anxiety, but she struggled to squash it down. Her phone was PIN-locked, she reminded herself. No need to worry….

His lips twisted into a knowing smile.

“Found some papers in your car, too. Had your date of birth on them. You're 37, huh? Look damn good for your age, I gotta say. But anyways, you might find this interestin’ - I read an article once about the most commonly used PIN numbers for stuff an’ you know what I found out? Apart from numbers like 1111 or 2222, people are most likely to use dates for their PIN codes. How about that? Date of birth obviously bein’ the most popular…..”

He dug into the pocket of his jeans and slipped her phone out, cradling it in his palm with a wicked little grin. Becca lunged at him, clawed fingers grabbing for her phone, but he blurted a cackle of laughter and held it up, straight-armed, out of reach.

“Calm down, Becca! You don't really think I looked, do ya? Why? Somethin’ on there y’all don't want me to see?”

“Give it back!” she screeched, standing on tiptoes and jumping up.

“How ‘bout you say please?” he said, his face alight will cruel mischief. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Frustrated, she dropped back down on her heels, looking him in the eye. She'd braced her hand against him when she'd jumped, and it still lay flat against his narrow chest. She left it there.

“Please?” she asked him meekly.

She used her eyes on him. Her ex-husband had always liked her eyes. Lucas’s grin was still in place, but it was changing, becoming less amused and more predatory.

“Try again,” he suggested. “Nicer.”

She should have been pissed off - he was manipulating her through her frustration and he had her where he wanted her, but there was something about the commanding voice he was using that hit her in one of her soft-spots.

She wet her dry lips, and he watched the tip of her tongue move across them with a hungry fascination.

“Please…..” she said again, adding an extra note in, begging him.

“Uhm. Nearly there,” he said. “Y’all nearly persuaded me. You got the please, an’ the pretty, but I ain't got no sugar. Where’s that?”

“You want sugar?” she asked, widening her eyes. “Fine.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, his stubble scratching her lips, and she felt his free hand settle on her hip. She let her mouth drift open, plying her tongue into the greedy cave of his mouth, and he snatched it between his teeth, clamping it in place. It didn't hurt - he stopped just short of pain - but it was enough to make her groan, and it was echoed back at her from his throat.

She hadn't planned on anything other than a mid-level smooch to loosen him up, but she felt her fingers curling into the scant muscle of his chest of their own accord. His clothes were dirty, but his taste didn't reflect that, and the hand on her hip held her with just the right amount of possessiveness to loosen her up instead, the tangled knot in her stomach unravelling to a sticky heat.

He tilted his head and released her tongue, but she didn't withdraw. Her arm was lifting, mysteriously, like she was a horny marionette being operated by an invisible puppeteer, and she slung it around his neck, pressing her lips harder against his.

He tugged her up against him, groin snug to his own, and she could feel a burgeoning stiffness down there, a mere suggestion of an erection.

She made a final effort, dropping her chin down and sliding it back up again, sucking on his lower lip, tightening her arm around his neck.

He gave a grunt as she pulled away, their mouths parting with a smack, and his smile was in place, smug and self-satisfied and lazy.

“Yeah…” he said. “That’ll do. Here - have your phone. I don't need it.”

She stepped back from him, her knees feeling wobbly, and he held her phone out to her. Their fingers brushed together as she took it, his transmitting some low-grade current that made her tingle. She looked away from him, a blush heating her cheeks.

“You're wild, you know that?” he said conversationally. “Wouldn't think it to look at you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing full well.

He laughed, and her face grew hotter, the blush suffusing her chest and neck now too.

“Nothin’. Don't mean nothin’ by it. Why d’you ask?”

She shook her head. He was teasing her, she was almost certain, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him to confirm her suspicions.

He turned away from her, busying himself pouring coffee, and Becca escaped, scurrying into the other room and falling onto the couch in a welter of humiliation. Her hands were still cold from the water, and she used them on her face, using the lingering coolness to dampen the heat.

He followed her, whistling tunelessly, and she closed her eyes momentarily to gather her thoughts as he seated himself next to her and placed two mugs on the floor.  He didn't leave a gap this time, his knee just brushing her own, apparently more comfortable with her now.

“You  _ did _ look, didn't you?” she asked. “You looked at my phone.”

He glanced down. Her phone lay on her lap, close to where her thighs met, and she felt his eyes touch her there as though it were a physical thing.

“Guess I did,” he said. “Curiosity killed the cat. Lucky I ain't no cat, huh? Though I don't mind a little pussy….Tell you what, your daughters are real pretty! Look just like their Momma!”

Her head snapped up, and she felt a surge of anger.

“You leave them alone!” she snarled, and she saw the shock on his expression.

“What?”

“Leave my girls alone!  You hear me?”

Lucas held up his hands in surrender, and she thought his dismay looked genuine enough.

“Lord, you think I'd go after your girls? I wouldn't do that!” he protested. “Was just makin’ an observation, is all!”

Becca relaxed slightly, the rush of adrenaline leaving her shaky.

“I don't know you,” she pointed out. “I don't don't know what you'd do.”

“True,” he conceded. “But you don't have to worry on that account. I ain't interested in them….”

He leaned forward and picked up his mug, blowing on his coffee like a kid before taking a sip.

“‘Sides, I always had an  _ envie _ for older women anyways,” he continued. “More experience, I reckon. That true?”

Becca shrugged.

“Maybe,” she said.

He nodded sagely.

“Gotta be,” he said. “Woman like you? Reckon you got a whole lotta experience plugged up in there, just waitin’ for someone to come along and let it all out, like water out o’ a bathtub.”

He set his mug down again, deep in thought.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Can't stop you.”

“Tell me, Becca - who’s Adam?” he said, and her heart sank.

Her messages - oh, God, he'd read her messages….


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becca and Lucas finally do the nasty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biting kink put in at the request of the OC :)

It had been about a week ago. She'd been drunk. Drunk and horny, and her vibrator had run out of batteries. She'd had her fingers, true, but without the thick width of the rubber cock to fill her her fingers hadn't seemed adequate.

Adam was a colleague, nothing more, but he'd made no secret of his attraction to her, and though she'd given him no kind of come-on it hadn't stopped him sending her the odd message every now and then.

Nothing too strong - just vaguely suggestive comments disguised as concern for her well-being or inquiries about her day, and she'd saved them against her better judgement, replying with just the right amount of civility mixed with friendliness. They warmed her on her lonely nights, showing her that someone out there was thinking about her, found her attractive. But he was a colleague, and if things went South she'd have to work with him afterwards, so she'd kept him at arms length - until that night…..

She’d sent him a text, innocent enough - “U up?” - the wine in her system assuring her it was a good idea, and he had answered before she’d even put the phone down. She’d had enough drunken cunning to pretend she was making a suggestion about an animal at work, and the mismatched conversation had gone on back and forth until he’d asked her what she was doing.

_ Nothing much. Just chilling in my pj’s and drinking wine lol. You? _

He’d ignored her question, concentrating instead on her attire:

_ Pj’s? Really? You struck me as the type to go to bed au naturel ha ha _

_ I’m not in bed yet! I’ll probably take them off when I go….. _

She’d giggled with glee at the exchange, and before she knew it things had gotten heated. He’d asked for photos, and she’d sent them - modest ones at first, getting more intimate as the night went on. She’d sent him shots of her cleavage, spurred on by his evident enthusiasm and praise, finally allowing him a topless picture and winding up with the  _ piece de resistance _ : A snapshot of her pussy in return for a photo of his rigid cock.

He’d called her then, and they’d had phone sex, something which had made her cringe the following day, and he’d spoken to her since then, trying to arrange for them to meet up. She’d put him off, claiming prior engagements, but she’d kept the messages. And the photos…..

“Adam is a work colleague,” Becca told Lucas, trying to ignore the leer he gave her in response.

“Oh, really? A work colleague? Boy, your workplace must be pretty relaxed….” he sniggered.

Becca clenched her fists helplessly. Her face was burning again, and she felt tears of shame stinging her eyes.

“I was drunk, okay?” she said. “Drunk and lonely! I needed a little...appreciation.”

Lucas was nodding, and her to surprise he looked sympathetic.

“Hey...don't sweat it. I get ya. I know what it’s like. So, you plannin’ on seein’ him again? Maybe go on a date?”

Becca stared at him, confused. She’d expected derision, or teasing at the very least about the photos, and his sudden about-turn made her suspicious.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she admitted. “It seems like a bad idea - mixing work and pleasure. I realise that sounds a little hypocritical…”

Lucas shrugged.

“Meh. Whatever. Don’t concern me none. I’m more interested in them photos to be honest….”

Becca’s every instinct wanted her to duck her head down, but she’d had enough of being embarrassed, and she lifted her chin instead, defiant.

“What about them?”

“Why’d you send them? Was it for the attention? Or did it turn you on?”

“A little of both, I’d say,” she said after a while. “I liked that he liked them - it’s nice to feel wanted. But it was pretty sexy too. Just knowing that even though I was on my own someone else could see me….”

She bit her lip. He was getting ready to ask her something else and she knew what it was going to be.

“So, uh - how long you had your clit pierced?”

 

Part of Becca wanted the couch to swallow her up - wanted the cushions to part like a gaping mouth and just suck her in - but another part was strangely proud.

“Nearly 10 years,” she said. “I got it after I broke up with my boyfriend at the time. I like having a secret. People can look at me and think I look completely normal but I know it's there.”

Lucas drummed his fingers on his knee. He hadn't taken his eyes off her once and he appeared fascinated by her hidden side.

“Ain't never seen one in real life,” he said. “Only in pictures….”

Becca twisted her hands on her lap. She knew what she wanted to say, and she knew it was probably a bad idea, but she'd been bored for so long - her depths unplumbed, her body untouched, her mind dulled - that this man’s interest was powerfully intoxicating. He made her feel sexy again, in the way that the text exchange with Adam had done, but this time she wasn't drunk.

“Would you like to see mine?” she asked at last.

 

Of course he'd said yes.

Becca toed off her sneakers, unable to look at him. She felt terribly uncomfortable, but at the same excited as hell. He wasn’t demanding it, she reminded herself - she was choosing to show him.

He sat on the couch trying to look casual, but his upper body was forward in anticipation, the hands that rested on his knees giving away his eagerness with the telltale little movements, clenching and loosening, clenching again.

Becca concentrated on preparing herself, tucking her socks fastidiously into her shoes, putting them fussily to one side.

Her jeans came next, the button snapping open with a flick of her thumb, and she pulled the zip down more slowly than was necessary. It would have been a dull strip-tease under ordinary circumstances, but these circumstances were far from ordinary and Lucas watched her avidly,  taking note of every little movement.

She wiggled her jeans down over her hips, setting her ass down clumsily on the mattress to get them past her knees. Her panties felt damp and swampy between her legs, the fabric clinging to her. He was looking down there, too, not trying to pretend that he wasn't, eyes fixed to that little strip of material.

She folded her jeans and draped them over her sneakers. The moment had come and she felt a little shy.

“You're not going to able to see properly from there,” she told him, and he was off the couch in a second, falling onto his knees and crawling towards her. It could have been attitude of worship, but on him it looked predatory. She wondered what kind of animal he'd be - not a cat, she felt, but something more primitive. Some kind of reptile, maybe.

Becca bent her knees, planting her feet flat on the floor, and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. Lucas had come to rest in front of her, settling back on his haunches, and his stare made her skin prickle.

She peeled the scrap of cotton down, keeping her knees close together, shielding herself with her shins. She didn't want him to see before she was ready, but she saw his head move on his neck, trying to snatch a peek.

Panties round her ankles, she lay back, pillowing her head on her left hand, her right creeping down over her belly. The air was warm down here, but being exposed made her feel cooler, little goosebumps studding her skin as she let her knees fall apart. She felt the air move as he leaned forward, and before she could change her mind she put her fingers between her labia and parted them, baring her clit and the stainless steel ring through it.

She wondered what he saw first, which thing he focused on. Was it the ring, something so hard amidst the pink softness it looked out of place? Was it her pussy, the neat little slit that was opened so invitingly? Or was it her wetness, the glisten of her arousal so obvious, drenching the thin skin between her lips?

He made a low sound, interest and his own arousal, and she felt a waft of warm breath touch her, a tickle of hair on the inside of her thigh.

“Wow. That's wild,” he said, voice full of awe. “Can I touch it?”

She nodded, realised he probably couldn't see that, and managed a strained squeak.

“Yes.”

He was careful: She felt the ring move but his finger didn't touch her. She gritted her teeth as he wiggled it, flipping it up and down. He was silent as he did it, and unable to see his face, she had no clue of what he was thinking.

The contact stopped, and when he spoke again his voice was further away than before. He was sat back now, upright.

“That's hot,” he announced. “I like it. Does it make you more sensitive?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding far away. “Sometimes it catches on my panties and drives me crazy…”

“I bet it does….” he said. “You mind if I try somethin’?”

“Go ahead.”

She felt his hand between her ankles, snatching her panties off over her feet, and suddenly his palms were on the inside of her thighs, pushing them further apart roughly. She gasped at the first touch of his tongue, smack dab on her clit, his lips closing around it with possessive greed.

“Oh!”

She put her free hand against the top of his head and pushed, an instinctive reaction to her shock, but he pushed back with a gutteral little sound, sucking her clit ruthlessly into his mouth. She still had her pussy lips parted, splaying her helpfully open, and she found herself continuing to do so despite her token struggle. It felt good, that was the problem. He hadn’t specifically asked if he could do that, and she wasn't sure what she would have said if he had, but now he was there, licking her with just the right amount of coarseness, her hand fell limp from the scant fuzz of his hair and dropped onto the mattress beside her. Her toes curled into the concrete floor as the flat of his tongue delved between her fingers, catching on her fingernails, wetting her knuckles.

His teeth snatched up the little metal ring and he tugged on it gently, and Becca felt her eyes roll up in her head. Her feet had come up off the floor and she wrapped her legs around his shoulders, squeezing him convulsively. She heard him chuckle, a dirty sound from a dirty man that made her melt around his tongue. He curled his arms around her thighs, locking her against his face, and his tongue slithered against her pussy, the tip probing the opening before dipping inside. He straightened up slightly, lifting her ass up off the mattress and growled against her cunt, opening his mouth wide and sucking on her, teeth grazing the delicate skin. The vibrations of his snarl tingled through her, and she wriggled helplessly in his grasp. She hadn’t intended it as a bid to escape, but he misread her motion and grappled her even closer. His arms were like steel pincers, hands digging into the tops of her thighs, and he shook his head like a dog worrying a toy, stubble rasping her secret skin, sending a spasm through her.

He rose up on his knees further, bending her neck against the mattress, and the hand she had been using to display her fell away, grabbing a handful of the grimy sheet. She shuddered as he gulped at her, tugging on her ring again. She was all but upside down, her feet kicking up towards the ceiling, and with a savage tug he had pulled them apart, winding his fingers around her ankles, holding her in place.

She craned her neck, looking wide-eyed up at him. He was staring back down at her with a feral grin on his face, head framed between her spread legs, teeth bared, mouth slick with her juices, and she sagged back, letting her arms fall back, hands beside her head in a gesture of submission. He ran his tongue over his lips, those blue eyes piercing her, and very deliberately tilted his head downwards again.

Becca held her breath, waiting for him to commence licking, but he saw her little gasp and sniggered.

“Didn’t take much for you to give in,” he observed, and though he appeared to be mocking her she didn’t care.

He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, wringing a few creamy drops from his stubble.

“Want me to stop?” he asked, and she hesitated for only a second before shaking her head, embarrassed by her need.

He grinned again, a wolfish leer that made her pussy clench, and he bent his head down. He looked sly, though, and just as he was about to lower his face he exposed his teeth and lunged at her, like he was going to bite. His jaws snapped shut only a few millimetres away from her pussy. She felt the swish of air, a huff of hot breath, and though she flinched the action also did something else.

The muscles on the inside of her thighs fluttered, and her knees cocked open, spreading her even wider. He laughed.

“Yeah, I thought so. You’re a dirty one, ain’t ya? Bet you been dyin’ for me to make the first move….”

Raising her feet above his head he stopped tormenting her, and she felt the muscular strum of his tongue again, slithering onto her clit, sweeping long strokes from her pussy up. She sighed, listening to the contented slurps, unravelling beneath his ministrations. He gobbled her like he was starving, grunting and sucking, his big nose grinding into her pubis. Every now and then he stopped, raised his head enough to stare at what he was devouring, as if refreshing his memory, storing up the sight for when he couldn’t see it, then back he would go again with renewed ferocity. Becca moaned, feet wriggling in his grasp, the blood rushing to her head. His enthusiasm should have made him sloppy, but he knew what he was doing, laving at her clit, stabbing at her pussy, moving back up to her clit repeatedly. He seemed to love the little steel ring and returned to it over and over, pulling it and letting it snap back until she hardly stand it. He could have made her cum within a few crowded minutes, but that wasn’t his game: He was drawing it out, teasing her, keeping her on the edge.

“Please…” she mewled, the word squeezing out from between her lips, and she jerked her pelvis against him, trying to drive herself up onto his face.

She saw his eyes for a second, glaring at her from over the curve of her belly, a spark of danger in them. He turned his head, fastening his teeth into a large wad of flesh on the inside of her thigh, high up near her groin, and bit.

He’d no doubt meant for it to be some kind of punishment, but it backfired. Becca cried out at the ring of subdued pain, sharp yet dull at the same time, and it sent a throb right into her pussy. She moaned, a throaty sound he couldn’t mistake, closing her eyes and clutching at her own hair, trying to process the sting and channel it. When she opened her eyes again, having gained some kind of control, he was watching her, curious.

“What did that do?” he asked.

It was almost a scientific question, as though he was doing some research, and though she tried to answer him the words choked in her throat. She’d never be able to explain, and he watched her struggle for a coherent sentence with interest.

Slowly, making sure she was watching, he turned his head the other way, and she bit her lip, knowing what he was about to do. He was more careful this time, closing his mouth on her thigh and chomping down carefully, sucking the flesh between his jaws. Her leg twitched, hips snapping up, and the high pitched noise she made rose and fell, fading into a whimper. He bit her again with slow intensity, a little further down, then again, creating the beginning of a chain down her leg, links overlapping. She went utterly limp, surrendering every last bit of her will, and groaned with disappointment when he lowered her feet gently to the ground.

She felt the mattress sag under his weight. He was crawling over her, propping himself up on stiff arms so he could see her face. He studied her with avid glee, and she pouted up at him. One of his knees was between her thighs, and the rough denim of his jeans touched her, making her shiver again.

“You like that.”

It wasn’t a question, but she managed a nod anyway.

“Huh. How ‘bout that,” he said. “You like it anywhere else?”

She turned her face away, not wanting him to look into her eyes and see the submissive desire there, but it was a mistake. His face was against her throat, hovering over the pulse, lips just touching, and he stayed there, poised, letting his breath warm her skin.

He bit her, hard enough to make her yelp, but the pain was freeing, and her hands flew up to lock around the nape of his neck. A single tear squeezed out of her eye as he increased the pressure bit by bit until she was writhing and panting.

He pulled away, and her neck throbbed, a little patch of gorgeous agony. She felt his hand on her face, thumb by her jaw, fingers on her cheek, and he forced her head around so he could look at her. Her lip trembled, but she gazed back at him with wet eyes. He looked solemn at first, then a smile gradually bled across his face.

“You do fuckin’ like it! Holy shit. What are the chances, huh? Cuz you see, I fuckin’ love to bite. Brings out the animal in me. An’ here’s you, likin’ to be bitten. Aw, baby, we’re gonna have some  _ fun… _ ”

He reared up, grabbing the front of her blouse. His deft fingers were working on her buttons, and half of them were undone before she realised what he was doing. The sensible part of her wanted to protest, to clutch at the fabric of her blouse and pull the edges shut, but the other part of her, the wild, frustrated part, pushed the urge down excitedly.

_ Are you kidding?  _ It said, sounding incredulous.  _ After all this time you want to waste this opportunity? _

_ He’s too young,  _  she told herself without much confidence.  _ And he’s probably crazy. _

_ Hush up, Becca,  _ her wild part said, out of patience with her logic.  _ This boy is going to ruin you, and you are going to let him. _

He’d finished undoing her buttons, opening her blouse and exposing her. Her struggles had caused one of the cups of her bra to slip aside, and a portion of her nipple peeked out, the stiff point poking up.

“Nice…” he said, slapping his hand down over the partially denuded tit. He squeezed, using his thumb to push the cup over further, staring at her.

He flicked at her nipple with his nail, making her squeak, then bent down and took it into his mouth. His teeth clenched threateningly around it and she held her breath, but he was at least  _ nearly  _ gentle with this tender part, nipping rather than biting, causing only a twinge of pain. It made her heart beat faster though, made her arch her back, and she was rewarded with sordid little suck she felt all the way down to her toes. The cloth of her bra got into his mouth and he spat it out.

Impatient, he pulled at the shoulders of her blouse, tugging it down her arms, taking her bra straps with it. He peeled the cups down, flipping them against her ribs, and took both of her breasts in his hands, pinching them till her nipples bulged out. She made no move whatsoever to stop him, her whole body seeming to vibrate, goose bumps springing up onto her flesh. He shifted position, swinging his other leg over, nudging her knees apart. She was pinned out under him like a butterfly on a board, and he let his hands roam, feeling her from her hips to under her arms, prodding at her belly.

“I could fuckin’ eat ya…” he said, and proceeded to do so.

He started at her abdomen, sinking his teeth into the softness, bruises blooming under his mouth, teeth marks welting her. She thrashed under him and he held her down,  working his way methodically over her, studding her with his primal signature. He bit the undersides of her breasts, sucked livid marks into existence, drew rings over her ribs, and by the time he got back to her neck she was a mess, trembling and moaning, her pussy dripping onto the sheets, adding to the stains that were already there.

He kissed her, squeezing her bottom lip between his teeth, groping at her body like he owned every square inch, then nuzzled into her neck, attacking the same spot as before. She screamed at the brightness of the pain, and felt him start against her, like he felt maybe he’d gone too far, but she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him against her, fingers feverishly clawing at his back.

Something broke inside her, the last tiny speck of resistance she’d held within flickering and dying as he licked at her throat.

When he pulled back there was blood on his lips and his eyes had a glazed look to them. She should have been scared - this little diversion could have snapped something inside him too, sent him over the edge into the desire to kill that had she had no doubt lurked under the surface, but when he moved his hand it wasn’t to clutch at her throat. He stroked a stray hair from her sweaty forehead where it clung, smoothed it back into place. His hard on was pressing against her pelvic bone, insistent and greedy.

“I wanna fuck you,” he said hoarsely. “Shall I?”

She only had one word left in her - he’d bitten all the others out.

“Yes,” she said.

 

She watched as he knelt. Unzipped his fly, popped open the button at the waistband. He pushed his jeans down on his hips, his shorts sliding down too, and his dick sprang out like the clown in a jack-in-the-box. It was a decent size, and best of all it was hard for her, veins standing out on the shaft, the helmet dark and angry.

He lifted his hoodie and the t-shirt beneath it, baring him up to his ribs. Again, she saw how thin he was, his hip bones sharp and angular, but she'd felt the strength he possessed. Malnourished didn't mean weak in his case, and she wondered if his stamina reflected this too. The thought brought a flush of heat to her face, but he didn't appear to notice. He was looking her over like she was an all-you-can-eat buffet spread out for him, and it gave her an excited little flutter in her stomach. It wasn't butterflies though - here the world was darker, it would have to be moths.

He took hold of his cock at the base and leaned down, slapping the length against  her crotch, making her legs spring apart.

“Dirty bitch,” he said, but she sensed it wasn't an insult: He sounded pleased with her.

She liked it anyway. Would have liked it even if he had been putting her down. If he'd called her a slut it would have had the same effect. She loved dirty talk.

His cock disappeared out of sight and she felt it nudge against the tight slit of her pussy. He rubbed the head in the swill of her juices, smearing them over both of them, then slid it up so the underside of his shaft met her clit. He sawed it back and forth, rubbing her back into a frenzy, his breathing hoarse and loud in the silence.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “So fuckin’ wet you're nearly drippin’. You want that dick, huh? You want that big dick?”

She sighed happily, and his grin came back, filthy and knowing.

“Yeah, that's what you want. That's what you  _ need _ . Sendin’ pictures o’ yourself to some guy from work? That ain't enough for someone like you, oh no. You need a big stiff dick in that greedy little cooze. You need someone to fuck you so hard you don't know whether you're cummin’ or dyin’. An’ I'm that someone. That make you hot knowin’ that? Huh? Tell me!”

“Yes,” she said meekly.

“Yes, what?” he demanded.

“Yes sir!” she blurted, and he laughed at her confusion.

“That ain't what I meant, but can't say I mind anyways,” he said, and she realised he'd meant for her to say something along the lines of:

“Yes, that makes me hot.”

She wasn't ashamed though. It wasn't her imagination that his dick was even more rigid than before.

She licked her lips.

“I want you,” she told him and he glanced at her in approval.

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me scream. I want you to fuck me and bite me and spa -”

She stopped, biting the word down. It wouldn't do to let him know  _ all _ her kinks, but she thought from the look on his face he'd guessed anyway. His smile was wider, a leer now.

“Oh? You want all that? Reckon I can oblige. Buckle up, cuz here I come….”

She felt the stab of his prick before he'd finished his sentence, and he went in with one smooth motion, gliding into the snug little channel. His groin slapped against her, jolting her on the mattress, her head hitting the wall behind her. He leaned down onto her thighs, opening her up like a spatchcock chicken and she felt the tendons pull to the point of pain, but it was perfect. He was in her deep and she felt him grinding into her as though he was searching for something, probing. He made a noise like he was winded, butting into her again before pulling out until only the tip remained then ramming it home.

Becca ground her teeth.

“Fast and hard!” she said. “Pound me!”

“Don't you worry, I'm gonna….” he snarled, leaning back and angling up, coring her.

He set himself a punishing pace, jamming her into the wall with each savage stroke, and she whined, joggled helplessly. His fingers dug into her, nails stabbing little crescents, and it felt like bites. Becca reached up and grabbed ahold of her breasts, squeezing them with even less mercy than he had, wrenching at the soft meat. She was craning her neck, wanting to see him enter her, wanting to lay eyes on the slick rod that currently penetrated her as it pistoned in and out, but each thrust knocked her back until she gave in and let herself just be hammered.

He slowed, pulling out, and she whimpered in disappointment.

“Turn over,” he panted. “Flip over onto your belly.”

He slapped her thigh to spur her into action and she struggled with clumsy eagerness to roll over. He helped her, levering a hand under her hip and tossing her over like she was a pancake. She tasted the salt and dirt of the sheets, sour on her tongue. Her arms were trapped beneath her and she writhed to free them. He already had her hips, pulling her onto her knees and for a second she couldn't breathe. She turned her head to the side, gulping at the stale air.

Her knees were on the concrete floor and it bruised her, but Lucas didn't care about such niceties. Deep scrapes gouged the thin skin as he pushed her legs apart, and she felt him grab her ass, taking a big handful.

She managed to get her arms out and folded them under her head as he pushed himself into her again, and the squelch they made as they joined could be heard even over the sound of her harried breathing. He adjusted position, getting himself in place, then began again. In this position she was rocked even farther, but he was also in deeper, and she dipped the small of her back to present herself more fully. She felt the palm of his hand rebound off her buttock, the snap echoing in the cramped space, and the sting spread in a bright halo of heat. She barely flinched, and he took that as a challenge, slapping the other side a glancing blow. She wiggled her butt, inviting more, and he brought both hands down at once, letting them settle, clenching her ass cheeks in his fists. She shuddered at the deep prod of his fingers, pressing his fingerprints into the pink flesh, and he rocked her and rolled her onto the mattress.

She pushed back, impaling herself on him eagerly, and he grabbed her hips to force her over him.

Belly slapping against her ass he rode her hard, snapping her back by her hips, grunting at each impact.

She liked a vocal man - there was nothing worse, in her opinion, than a silent lover, one who made no display of his enjoyment. Lucas had no fear of being overheard, no need to stay mute, and he groaned and cursed, his words worming their way into her head and inflaming her.

Becca reached back between her legs, nails grazing off the sensitive skin of his balls, and began to rub her clit, fingertips dancing around the little ring, settling on it every now and then. She was going to cum soon - she could feel it building up, an urgent climb only hastened by the insistent prod of his dick.

He saw what she was doing and laughed hoarsely.

“Yeah that's it! You gonna cum?” he demanded.

She moaned, the muscles in her thighs trembling.

“You gonna cum hard? I wanna feel it on my dick. You a squirter? You look like a squirter. A real dirty little slut…”

The word pushed her over the edge, and she clenched around his cock. He slapped her ass again, a sharp smack that only added to her climax. She shrieked into the mattress, breathing in its filth, riding the crest of her orgasm.

 

Lucas didn't seem like a snuggler,  but once he'd finished he slumped down next to her, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back. She was sticky with sweat, but he didn't seem to mind, sliding his fingers in it happily.

“You okay?” he asked, startling her with his concern.

He may have been young, but it seemed he knew about aftercare, and she wondered if Kitten had been his instructor on this.

She managed a nod. Every part of her ached, including her belaboured cunt, but it was a good ache that was a lasting reminder of her pleasure.

He rolled onto his side, caressing her spine.

“That was  _ good _ ,” he said. “Wasn't it?”

She read insecurity in his question, and managed to turn her head to smile at him. Possible psycho or not, he still needed reassurance.

She struggled over onto her back, and he propped himself up on his elbow, wincing at the evidence of his bites studding her all over.

“Those look sore,” he said. “I can give ya somethin’ that'll get rid o’ those right away, if you want.”

“No,” she said, fingering the one on her neck. The edges stung but it was tolerable.

“I like to know they're there. Like my ring.”

“Okay.”

He settled back down next to her, his arm.across her belly, and they lay there in companionable silence for a while. Becca didn't want to break it, but now that they were comfortable with each other there were some questions that had been on her mind for a while and she wondered if he'd answer them now.

“Lucas?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to Kitten?”

He raised his head again, frowning at her.

“ _ Lani? _ How d’you know about her?”

“I spoke to her when I was under the verandah. There's a little window under there to the basement. What's going on with her?”

Lucas sighed.

“The old man caught her a long time ago, sneakin’ around. Liked her so much he kept her. Used to be a friend o’ my sister's an’ I always had, well, a  _ thing  _ for her, an’ when I found out she was down there, you better believe I was determined to try an’ get me some. Didn't seem fair my old man gettin’ it all, especially when he had my Momma for that. Anyways, we managed to come to an agreement, but seems like my dad got jealous. See, my dad was always her favourite, but he's kinda crazy, so she didn't get much in the way o’ conversation from him. So when me an’ her got together it weren't just fuckin’, we'd talk too, just shoot the shit about stuff. He caught us doin’ that, an’ I guess he got all possessive, cuz next thing I knew he'd cut me off.”

He shook his head in annoyance.

“Tricked me into doin’ it myself, sneaky fucker. How did she seem when you spoke to her? She okay?”

Becca hesitated. She didn't want to worry him, but she didn't want to lie either.

“She looked kind of weird,” she said eventually. “Had all these black veins, and black goo coming out of her eyes. Seemed a little crazy too. She said she missed you though.”

Lucas nodded thoughtfully.

“Sounds like she's infected,” he said. “All that spunk in her was bound to do somethin’ eventually, I guess. Not much I can do for her now. She seem happy, tho?”

“Oh, yes,” said Becca truthfully. “She was pretty chipper. But….Lucas, I'm worried. Now that I'm here….you're not intending to keep me like your daddy keeps her, are you? I mean it's not that I don't like you - I do! - but I have to get back for my kids. They're staying with friends for a couple of weeks but when they get back….”

Lucas sighed.

“Look, I'll admit it crossed my mind, even before we did what we did, but I ain't gonna do that. I promise.”

He cuddled up to her naked flank, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

“Just stay with me a little while,” he pleaded. “I been lonely. Just a few days?”

Becca thought for a while. People would wonder where she was, and she had work in a couple of days, but she had some time off she'd been saving up, and she'd be lying if the idea of staying here to be fucked so well and so regularly wasn't appealing….

“Tell you what,” she said. “Let me call my boss and I'll stay. I don't want to lose my job.”

Lucas grinned.

“Deal!”


End file.
